


desert storm

by fuzzyfalcons18



Category: Portrait de la jeune fille en feu | Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:08:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29703831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzyfalcons18/pseuds/fuzzyfalcons18
Summary: Marianne is sent to Egypt, soon to make the discovery of her life. In more ways than one that is.
Relationships: Héloïse/Marianne (Portrait of a Lady on Fire)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 31





	desert storm

"Pleased to make your acquaintance Dr. Carter."

The droopy mustached man traps her palm in a bone crushing handshake that leaves Marriane wincing. 

"Thank you sir." Marianne folds her hands neatly on her lap, careful not to lower her eyes in the face of the lord's scrutinizing eyes. One wrong move and she would be seen as nothing more than a person whose little flights of fancy were to be humored but never really considered. Years of hard work discredited just because she is a woman.

Lord Carnavron nods, oblivious to Marianne's discomfort. "You have made quite a name for yourself. An excavation at Beni Hussan in 1891. Another dig at," a brief pause as he fumbles for the right name. "Ameran, isn't it?"

Amarna. The correct name would be Amarna but Marianne decides that it would be wise to not incur the wrath of the man who will be paying for her food and water, not to mention a roof over her head for the next three months. 

Lord Carnarvon continues listing off Marriane's gallantries. A trip to the Nile again in 1893, and a subsequent appointment as the Inspector of Monuments. Two years spent shuffling across Egypt to supervise expeditions. Two years spent under the sweltering summer sun working mercilessly from dawn to dark, and just when Marriane has had her fill of adventure, she is sitting in an office in the middle of nowhere.

Again.

"Either way…" Carnarvon is nearly finished and Marrianne snaps back to attention. "...we're glad to have you here with us. Just a couple of months digging in the beautiful Egyptian Sahara, hunting for treasure of yore. You must feel right at home. Your cheque will be given to you on Sunday." 

He stands up. Delivers another of those handshakes that will be detrimental to Marriane's ability to work, and escorts her to the door.

  
  
  


Mariane arrives at her destination during noon. At the site, there are camps already being set up, and people bustling about, not unlike a colony of ants. Amidst the chaos she is whisked aside by a small woman who introduces herself as one Sophie Trent.

"Pleased to meet you." Thankfully untroubled by the convention of shaking hands."I'll be your assistant for the rest of this expedition. Frankly," Marriane hears something like hesitation in Sophie's voice. "I don't know how much help I will actually be of, considering this is only my second dig. However we're all here more at less at your service." She acquires a bright tone all of a sudden.

"It will be nice to have a friend."

Marriane unashamedly admits the same, and for the first time she feels something almost like hope in her heart. She finishes setting up the equipment, and directing all the men round the site. It is already dusk when she is done, and heading into one of the larger tents, Marriane is already asleep before her head hits the pillow.

  
  


Whatever optimism that remained in Marianne's heart is quickly crushed over weeks of toiling relentlessly under the blazing sun. Weeks pass and her men find nothing whatsoever. Day after day, getting up to the view of sand and nothing else. The sound of pickaxes swinging to the men's ghastly singing was starting to drive her insane. They were going absolutely nowhere, and Marriane would have to pay.

At the end of the first month, Marianne is idly lounging in her bed, a new favorite hobby of hers, when Sophie crashes in.

“Lord Carnavron wants to see you.’’ Shifting from one foot to another. “He says it’s very important.”

And so Marianne is ushered into the lord’s office, where the man himself is pacing about, his lips wrapped around a cigarette. There is an apparent air of anger about him. 

“It has been an entire month yet not  _ one  _ thing has been unearthed,’’ Marrianne opens her mouth to form some sort of defense, some sort of rebuttal, but Carnavron continues. “I cannot stand by and let my men and money be put to such a waste. His fingers grind the cigarette into a miserable pile of ashes. A pause, perhaps for dramatic effect. ‘’I have sent a telegraph to my daughter, Lady Carnarvon. In light of your team's dwindling chance of success..." He gestures outside the window with a rueful smile at Marriane's fallen face. "..she will take over the operation."

Marriane can not help the feeling of inevitable defeat crashing against her like a wave. Her first thought is to talk to him, to reason that she is not completely incomptent. If word of her failure gets out then she will never be consulted for an expedition the rest of her life, let alone next summer, when she is hoping to return to America for a badly needed paid vacation of sorts, the equivalent of an oasis in the desert for her these past six months. Marriane is in the depths of self pity, when Lord Carevaron puts a surprisingly gentle hand on her shoulder. 

"Now I don't want you think that you are completely incompetent. On the contrary you are one of the most promising archaeologists I've seen in years." A eerie pause."You will be staying here, working with my daughter, who herself has a rather unsettling love for archaeology, thus her incentive to join this operation."

Suddenly he leans forward, voice low, and Marriane understands that he is about to say something better left alone. Acting on an impulse.

"To be perfectly frank, my daughter can be…" Strains again for the right words.``...difficult, to say the least. She is a force of nature, for better or for worse. Perhaps she will keep her composure better with a woman. You two can be conspirators of a sort." He leans back in his chair with a huge grin, clearly pleased with himself. Marianne is only displeased with herself and her luck in general. The last woman she had to entertain was during an expedition to the south of the Nile. She was pretty, sure and had more brains than plenty of the sorry excuses of professors sent to assist her, but she was, to put it gently, a little shit and Marianne had a self-proclaimed right to despise her. She could only pray for someone who would not need to be handled with gloves every step of the way. But Marriane shakes his hand as tightly as she possibly can. Her chance of revenge.

‘’Yes.’’ Marriane says."Thank you.’’

He deflects her gratitude with a wave of his hand and puts another cigarette to his lips before motioning to the door. Dismissed.

It is near midnight, when the unholy rumbling of a buggy, wakes Marriane in the middle of her sleep. She hears the unfortunately familiar noise of self righteous morons arguing and peeking outside her tent, is able to discern the silhouettes of two figures. The word "difficult" faintly echoes in the caverns of her mind. Daughter. That is, Lord Carnarvon's daughter. 

Marrianne scrambles out of the tent and into the dark, towards the two figures. Puts her left hand out instead of her right because that one is out of commission for at least the next few days, and chirrups.

"I'm Dr Carter. Extremely pleased to make your acquaintance." 

One of the figures turns around and the moment their eyes meet, Marriane feels her heart drop. The woman is tall, with a fair head and lucid blue eyes. Sculpted jaw. Had it been anyone else, this would be the point in the story where I would begin to describe how Marianne begins to develop an infatuation slowly verging on attraction towards her employer's daughter. But it wasn't. It was her. South of the Nile. Weeks of bickering over the pettiest details of history. To put it gently, a woman who was a little shit.

Heloise.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> As always I apologize for any grammatical errors


End file.
